Welcome to Tinder

After 14 years of marriage—commitment, hard work, and all things housewifely—I found out my man had another woman . . . for 14 years.

Bam! All at once, I was single again.

After I’d spent a year (or three) crying about it, my friends, my family, and even my children told me enough was enough. It was time to move on.

The problem? I was a 40-year-old Solo Mom of two, and I worked full time—not the best catch in Los Angeles’s sea of nubile young models and taut budding actresses. Even worse, I had been on maybe a total of 10 dates my entire life. You could count the number of men I’d slept with on three fingers.

Did I mention I was 40 and a single mom?

Nevertheless, one night my friend Jessica (aren’t these friends always named Jessica?) plied me with margaritas, teased my hair, painted my face, and dressed me up in many so-not-me outfits. She took sexy pics, intellectual pics, and the requisite “sporty” pic. She fiddled at the computer with my Facebook account and on my phone. And, voilà: I was on Tinder.

Tinder is an app (translation: a small program that can be downloaded onto your phone with the help of a Jessica). It may also be the greatest invention of the 21st century, wherein with just a cell phone and the swipe of a finger, a 40-year-old woman can get a date or, better yet, get laid (if that’s what she’s looking for)!

At the time, I did not want to get laid.

I wanted to feel like a person again. Not like a mom or someone with a broken heart. Not like a dog walker, housekeeper, neighbor, friend, boss, daughter, sister, writer . . . or anyone with any sort of need attached to it. I just wanted to feel like my own separate self.

I wanted a man to sit across from me in a public space (preferably a restaurant) at a table (preferably one at Chateau Marmont, but hell—I’d take Starbucks), with a beverage (other than water) and maybe even some food. (Am I pushing it?)

Then I wanted said man to have a conversation with me wherein he would listen to me when I spoke, he would speak to me in turn, we would laugh, and I would feel pretty again. In short, said man would pay attention to me.

Next, we would fall madly in love. He’d reveal he was a secret billionaire and ex-soccer star who worked to save orphans in Africa in his spare time. He’d give me a massive diamond ring, and I’d drop 20 pounds from sheer joy (an as-yet-to-be-discovered scientific phenomenon). Then we’d travel the world on his private jet and live happily ever after.

And this is exactly what I got. Kinda . . . sorta . . . not really. Well, not even close.

To be continued in the new year...

P. Charlotte Lindsay is a middle-aged Solo Mom. She shares her newfound expertise as a user of a dating app that can help you meet guys, get laid, and maybe even find love. She is a real person, though her name has been changed to protect the innocent, namely her children and parents. You can follow her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.